


Spare Me of My Company

by BrainlessGenius



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Death, Depressing Thoughts, Feels, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Logic | Logan Sanders, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Has Feelings, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Sad Ending, fading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26578432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrainlessGenius/pseuds/BrainlessGenius
Summary: Logan said that the only reason he decided to take the form of an 8-bit projection attached to a dialogue box was to be less invasive; but as he looked at his flickering hands, he knew that wasn’t all there was to it.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	Spare Me of My Company

“It's just me, Logan. I've taken this form because I didn't want to be too invasive.”

Well, technically, he didn’t lie. As the embodiment of logic, Logan was observant enough to notice how they cringed, scoffed, and scowled at his presence countless times before. He’d taken note of the tonal and pacing shifts in their voices whenever he pushed his point, with even the most microscopic vocal changes speaking volumes regarding their distaste and disregard for his opinions. 

But as he stared at his shaking fingers erratically dancing on his keyboard, unsteadily dictating to his 8-bit self what his physical mouth could not say, he knew that “invasiveness” wasn’t  _ entirely  _ the reason. 

In fact, he couldn’t even pop up if he tried. 

And believe him, he  _ tried;  _ he simply was just… too weak, in a physical sense, of course. His physical state may be plummeting, but his mind was sharp as ever, with its capacity and speed over-ranking an empty ten-wheeler going over the speed limit on the highway.

Logan’s stomach churned at the obvious glee in Patton’s voice when he realized that his little (but potentially  _ useful _ ) factoids were merely optional now; and the rancid bile threatened to escape his throat when Roman jokingly pushed the “ignorant” button when given the choice. He was only grateful that his 8-bit projection was limited to a few facial expressions, otherwise he didn’t know how to hide the fact that his entire face was scrunched up in pain from the intense throbbing originating from his skull.

He had a book open beside the laptop and a couple of tabs open in his browser window too. He tried his absolute best to absorb as much information as he could about Americans, and Christmas decorations, and homelessness, and statistics, just to type out a simple lowdown that will probably fly over everyone’s heads anyway. The veins in his eyelids thrummed violently from the effort and he had to take a second to look away from the bright screen if he  _ really  _ still wanted to contribute  _ anything  _ to Thomas’s dilemma.

After a good few seconds of uncomfortably rubbing at his eyes, he held out his hands in front of him, allowing the faint glow of the screen to cast a bright halo around his digits. He counted a second, then two, then three more, then stifled a groan when he saw and  _ felt  _ the same hands flicker out and in again for the briefest moment. He quickly pulled his hands back down; cringing at the thought of something that’s supposed to be physical, rational, and tangible, becoming transparent, irrational, and absent for a few seconds, before returning to its physical state. Not to mention the flash of pain that travelled from his fingertips and shot up his temples every time  _ it _ happened.

He hadn’t named the phenomenon yet-- refused to. He tried convincing himself that whatever that was, was temporary; a mild inconvenience that would go away once he traced the root cause and treated the root problem, as most scientific methods went. The only problem was that Logan already  _ knew  _ the root problem. He was drowning in it, in fact; but he had no clue as to how to treat it.

He was too caught up in his thoughts to notice that he’d been rambling again, with the contents of his dialogue box coming out to be too much, too clunky, too wordy, too  _ talkative  _ than it should’ve been. Quite stupidly, he also didn’t notice the proximity of his dialogue box when it popped up, and it just  _ had  _ to have hit Patton right in the nose.

He said “sorry,” of course, but the apology melted on his tongue and left a bitter taste in his mouth when Roman slashed the box in half. 

Logan already knew what was coming before it even happened.

He doubled over in pain as his entire form flickered and glitched, a few shuddering gasps and choked sounds slipping past his lips as his unstable hands braced itself on the desk’s edge. His unkempt locks brushed against the laptop’s mouse pad as his head bowed down, his eyes closed shut, and his entire, fading body tensed.

_ Fading.  _ Did he dare pin that term for this definition of a sensation he’s been suffering through for days? Weeks? Months?

Once the episode died down, he did what he always did. He caught his breath, waited for the last few glitches to fade out into his dim, empty room, cleared his throat, adjusted his tie and glasses, cracked his fingers, and got back to work.

There was an indescribable faintness coursing through his veins that seemed to pool around his chest ‘till the weight got too heavy to bear. Sometimes the weight overwhelmed itself and opted to rise up and pool in his tear ducts instead, but he never dared allow the salty tears passage. 

He must remain objective, after all. It was the least he could do. 

He never remembered giving permission for the appearance of a “Skip All” button, but when Patton pushed it without giving it a second thought, Logan almost fell out of his chair from the strength and speed at which the glitches took over. Before they could even die down, he felt a cool, hard material hooking around his flickering neck, and his glossy, reddish eyes grew wide as the cane pulled him down into the dark sides’ part of the mindscape. The world seemed to shift between various phases of matter as his pathetic, flitting form was forcibly yanked down and slammed painfully onto their cold, hard, unforgiving floor.

He knew it was Deceit’s cane, and Logan saw the hint of a black polo, a blue tie, and yellow eyes framed in glasses look down on him for the slightest moment before popping up; undoubtedly to take his previous place in front of the laptop. He could only silently hope that Deceit didn’t catch sight of the glitches dancing around him, nor questioned his decision to show himself as a mere 8-bit projection.

Logan didn’t even dare attempt to sit up from where he lay weak and hurting on the ground. He didn’t move as the flickering slowly ceased and the glitches steadily faded. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when the pain finally left his being; but the heavy settlement on his chest was still very much there, along with the weight burning in his eyes that threatened to spill as tears.

When a single drop escaped his duct, he knew the threat finally won him over, and he concluded that there simply just was no point in hampering their flow any longer. 

So Logan continued to lay there, with silent tears running past his eyes, over his cheeks, and down onto the dark floor; silencing the sobs escaping his lips with one trembling hand over his mouth; and eyes locked onto the high, musty, uneven ceiling of the foreign mindscape. There was no one and nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. He thought about what would happen if he  _ did  _ fade. Would Thomas still function? Would a non-physical manifestation of logic still exist? Would another side take over his duties? Would they mourn? Would they rejoice? 

He continued to be plagued by these non-stop onslaught of memories, thoughts, and emotions. Well, that and the phantom voices of the others stopping him, belittling him, shutting him down, thinking of him as a joke, circling his mind and filling the cavity in his chest like a crown of thorns upon his head and roses shoved deep into his lungs.

But he was still Logic, and Logic had no room for emotions that only brought about unproductivity. 

It took a while to wipe the tears off his face, and another full minute to completely compose himself. He gulped down the weight that had risen up in his throat and forced it back down into his chest as he fixed his smile into a straight line. Logan focused, then used whatever was left of his energy reserves to rise back up into his room, stumbling a bit as he did, and took his rightful place once again in front of his blinding screen.

It was certainly quite the image-- seeing Deceit, Patton, Roman, and Thomas discussing dilemmas and ideologies on their own; without Logan. It was as if they never actually needed him--

As Logan took another glance at Deceit and the other three’s content faces, he thought maybe they actually didn’t. 

Rising up must have taken a lot out of him, because it was becoming a taxing effort just to remain seated up on his desk chair, and every breath out of him was accompanied by a shudder. He was far from his optimal state, but he always expected that this day would eventually come. He just never thought of it to be this… soon.

Uncertain about how much of him could even still make it until the next time Thomas asked for his presence, if that was even ever going to happen, Logan made sure to make his last few attempts at a semi-physical mode of communication productive, informative, logical,  _ useful;  _ as an embodiment of logic should be.

With his eyes straining from the flickering of his dying laptop screen, Logan typed out a paragraph regarding Peter Singer as his last bouts of information, hoping that whatever he’d send out would please them, even if his being there didn’t.

Before he could click send, Logan felt that same indescribable pain flash through him again. By the end of this one he was left a panting, fading mess with his upper half splayed out on the desk with every emotion he so carefully locked up in his chest finally bailing out and wreaking havoc on his flickering form. 

Fearing for his own state after this whole ordeal, with the last ounce of strength Logan had, he pushed himself up, sat up straight, typed out a few words on his blurring keyboard, queued his final factoid to be sent directly after this one, then clicked send.

“Not that any of you care, but I am unharmed, and I don't want to talk about it. I'm just here to deliver one last fact, then I will do you all a favor and spare you my company.”

And as his laptop finally died after clarifying something about the adequate standard of living, seeing his fingers go transparent as he stared at them with swollen, tear-stained eyes, _spare them of his company Logan did_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're all doing okay! Every little support and kudos is eternally appreciated. Follow me on Tumblr [@nerdy-emo-royal-dad](https://nerdy-emo-royal-dad.tumblr.com/)!. Stay safe, fams! <3


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